


Restless Nights, Restless Years

by fortymaliks



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M, wait where's Liam?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-01
Updated: 2015-12-01
Packaged: 2018-05-04 10:19:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5330555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fortymaliks/pseuds/fortymaliks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Louis still reads</i> Psycho<i> magazine, goes to see the bands they recommend and buys all the albums they review. Zayn and Niall laugh at him, and make jokes about how he'd probably blow Harry Styles if he were given the chance, which Louis can't really deny.</i></p><p><i>He's got <i>eyes</i>,  after all, and </i>Psycho<i>'s boy wonder features writer has got a mouth on him that Mick Jagger himself wouldn't know what to do with.</i></p><p>This is an AU in which Louis and Zayn are in an up and coming punk band, and Harry Styles is a famous rock journalist.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Restless Nights, Restless Years

**Author's Note:**

> SO MANY NOTES. Okay. OKAY.
> 
> I wrote the majority of this fic in 2012, when I first got into One Direction fandom in a big way. (You can see proof of this in the angst-free presence of Zayn Malik.) I wrote it to be a love letter to one of my favorite albums by one of my favorite bands; Japandroids' _Celebration Rock_.
> 
> Japandroids are a pop-punk-rock band that consists of only two members. They look like this:
> 
>  
> 
>   
> 
> 
> But I had always thought about how cool it would be if Louis and Zayn were in a band like that. Not only a band like that; that exact band. I wanted this album to be THEIR ALBUM. Because it's so great and fun and young. So I started writing a fic about it.
> 
>   
>   
> Bus 1 For life, just so we're clear.
> 
> So, yeah. This is my love letter to that album, which Louis and Zayn should have written. It's my ode to Punk Edit Louis Tomlinson and Zayn Malik in leather jackets and Doc Martens until the end of time. I hope you enjoy it, if even just a little.
> 
> You can listen to the actual [Celebration Rock record here](https://open.spotify.com/album/2sY9WYVH022ulyAYaqvXLW). The songs referenced in this fic are:
> 
> [Adrenaline Nightshift](https://open.spotify.com/track/0sq6L0pQRdMCnQ5N76U4AJ)  
> [Younger Us ](https://open.spotify.com/track/5lLyaFsXQ2GASksFhGA9It) (the song Zayn wrote for Niall)  
> [Fire's Highway](https://open.spotify.com/track/7pjyI9ulr1P3xR2JtFp3IG)  
> [The House That Heaven Built](https://open.spotify.com/track/2dcmQJCw1INGn7yR2KHx0U)  
> [Evil's Sway](https://open.spotify.com/track/0cMeyVzzSstLgkxMBcu2G5)
> 
> I highly recommend giving this album a listen. Especially if you want to get a feel for what Louis and Zayn's band sound like.
> 
> **********
> 
>   

Louis blinks awake to the most obnoxious sound he can ever remember hearing. It takes a few bewildered seconds before he remembers that he'd picked that ridiculous noise as an alarm for his phone, hoping it would do the trick where the last five alarms he'd tried had failed him. He hadn't quite enjoyed Niall's method of coming into his room and kicking him in the face.

He congratulates himself on picking a noise that actually woke him up, before thumbing the 'cancel' key, turning over, and letting his room fade to black around him.

***

It's not exactly a boot in the face, but it's almost as obnoxious when he wakes up for the second time to Niall yanking hard on his arm. He feels a sharp tug, and then his entire body slams onto the floor, dragging his sheet off the bed after him. He groans a general groan of anguish, hoping Niall gets his point.

“Idiot,” he hears Niall's voice from above him somewhere, and then he feels a sharp, but comparatively gentle, kick to his ribs.

“What did I say,” Louis mutters, throwing a hand in Niall's general direction and missing entirely, “about the kicking.”

“You said 'don't kick me when I'm asleep'.” Niall says, matter-of-factly, “you are on the floor, now. Fair game.”

Managing to disentangle himself from his sheets, and noting in the process that he couldn't remember the last time they'd been cleaned, he shoves them to the side of his room.

“What the bloody fuck are you waking me up for?” Louis musters his best glare, “and is there tea?”

“Fuck the tea,” Niall scoffs, “It's nearly eight o clock. At night, in case that's what you're about to ask next. Zayn's already texted me that you've missed sound check altogether, but if you leave now, you might be able to make your show.”

“Fuck,” the expletive slips off Louis' tongue as his scrambles to his feet, “fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.”

“You're welcome,” Niall says, turning and slamming the bedroom door behind him.

Louis' room is dark, but he searches through the piles of clothes littering his floor in a sliver of fading sunlight that slips through his curtain until he finds his favourite pair of black trousers. He sniffs them to check if they're alright to wear. They're not; the smell of smoke and sweat and god knows what else makes him curl up his nose, but he tugs them on anyway, pulling on his boots afterwards. The Clash t-shirt he'd woken up in is probably good for another day at least.

He grabs his guitar and heads for the door, feeling ridiculously grateful to see Niall leaning up against the frame, waiting to press a travel mug of tea into his hands on his way by.

Louis smacks a kiss to his cheek as he takes it, letting the “I fucking love you” come rushing off of his tongue. “We're playing _Younger Us_ tonight, first time, you should drop by.”

“I'll be there in a few hours. You'd better sound good this time, I dunno who Ed's got working tech tonight. Tell Zayn to watch the back left corner, the sound is shite there when they're at more than half capacity.”

“Wishful thinking. We'll be lucky if anyone besides you shows up.”

Niall pushes him out the door, not even bothering to humour Louis' self-deprecation with an answer. “Tell Zayn. Back left.”

“He's your shitty boyfriend, tell him yourself.” Louis shouts back over his shoulder, but Niall's already shut the door to their flat behind him.

He doesn't really think that Zayn will kill him, even with Zayn's threats to the contrary, but he knows that when Zayn's really annoyed, he scowls all night. Luckily for Louis, Zayn's scowl is really fucking sexy, and the girls go wild for it. It works for them. Still, Louis thinks, as he steps out of his building and onto the sidewalk, he might think about jogging the first few blocks to the bar.

***

Jimmy Protested was something that Louis had wanted from the start, and something that Zayn hadn't known he'd wanted until Louis convinced him it was true. Louis had met Zayn in high school, having discovered their mutual love of pranking everybody they'd come into contact with. They had spent many an evening in detention together, wandering around the school hallway while their supervisor stepped out for frequent smoke breaks. One day, they'd wandered into the music room, and Zayn had sat down behind the drums, playing Louis a few fills. Zayn had laughed it off, but Louis certainly hadn't been laughing, dragging Zayn back to his flat afterwards, to play him some songs he'd been working on, and swearing up and down that if Zayn just joined him, they could make a go of it as musicians. Zayn wasn't entirely convinced, but he was always up for a laugh, so a few months later, Zayn had a shiny new drum set, and Louis was over there jamming every single day.

They'd named their band after a line Louis had read in whichever silly book Zayn's mom had set down on the table in the den that day. He just picked it up and read a line out loud, and thus they'd become Jimmy Protested, though Louis had always secretly thought that Zayn probably didn't care what they were called. Louis didn't care either, to be honest, as long as he got to pour his heart and soul into writing songs and playing them with his best friend.

Years of Louis' obnoxious over-enthusiasm had paid off, and Louis realized that he wasn't the only one in it anymore the day that Zayn showed up at his place at three in the morning, throwing stones at his window, and waving sheets of lyrics around like they were the next _Stairway to Heaven_.

They got a few gigs while they were in school, parties their friends were having, weddings, local pubs that needed Saturday afternoon entertainment, that sort of thing. Since it had always been the two of them, they'd toyed with the idea of adding more members, “fuller sound, and all that?” Zayn had suggested one day, not really sure himself if he liked the idea. They'd let it go in the end, continuing on with just the two of them, Louis adding stacks of amps to get the layers of noise that he wanted. Louis insisted that they'd be something nobody had ever seen before, two lads in a rock band.

 _Celebration Rock_ was their baby. It was an album they'd literally worked for years to create, choosing songs that meant something to them, but cutting songs that had felt like cutting out their hearts, too.

Niall had come along somewhere in there as well, responding to Louis' ad in the paper looking for a flatmate when Zayn had shacked up with his most recent girlfriend across town. She hadn't lasted, but Niall had, and one day, Louis had returned home to his apartment to find Zayn in Niall's lap on the sofa. Zayn had blushed a ridiculous shade of red, and Niall had only shrugged, and leaned forward to nip Zayn's bottom lip once more before shoving him off, and asking Louis if he'd like a beer.

“Are you,” Louis had stammered, not really sure what to say in that situation, “Is this...”

“I guess so, yeah.” Zayn had said, finally raising his gaze from the floor, and through he still had that caught-out look, Louis had seen a spark of challenge. “That okay with you?”

It had been, it really, really had been, because Louis wanted Zayn to be happy, and he frankly didn't give a shit who Zayn wanted to sleep with, as long as he'd been happy. Louis had thrown himself at Zayn on the couch, wrapped his arms around his neck in a severe hug, and whispered, “just as long as he doesn't Yoko us.” Zayn had let out a relieved bark of laughter, and pushed him away.

They'd finished _Celebration Rock_ , paid for it with money they'd scrounged up from shit day jobs, their parents, and even Niall. It was eleven songs of their blood, sweat, and tears. By the time they had it in their hands, cardboard boxes full of physical copies, Louis wanted to shove it into his closet and keep it locked there.

Niall had been the first person to listen to it, although Zayn swore he didn't count, because he'd heard it at various stages of creation. He'd declared it smashing, and without Louis or Zayn knowing, he'd stolen a box of them, left some money in it's place, and started handing them out to his friends. Niall had a ridiculous amount of friends.

A few small reviews in college paper, and they were starting to get some buzz. Louis is sure that they're on the verge of something, and he knows Zayn can feel it, too. The thing is, their album is fucking _good_ , they know it is.

If they could only get _Psycho_ magazine to give them a review, they'd be set. Louis reads it religiously, every musician or music lover in London does. Back when he was a teenager in Doncaster, some guys from school had gotten together once a month to drive to the city to buy it, it's circulation hitting primarily local record stores. He'd practiced his guitar on slightly rusting strings left on weeks too long, saving up his money to buy the albums that got four or five stars. He never bothered with the ones that got three, nobody he knew ever did. He used to believe that a good album review in _Psycho_ meant you'd finally made it.

He's grown up a lot since then, definitely changes his strings more than he needs to, skips out on buying milk to buy strings instead, because, priorities, really. Niall doesn't even complain, since there's been more than one occasion that he's skipped out on buying milk, and their bread, too, in favour of beer. Their friendship works well, despite their possible future calcium deficiencies.

He still reads _Psycho_ , goes to see the bands the review recommends and buys the albums they review. Zayn and Niall laugh at him, and make jokes about how he'd probably blow Harry Styles if he were given the chance, which Louis can't really deny.

He's got _eyes_ , after all, and _Psycho_ 's boy wonder features writer has got a mouth on him that Mick Jagger himself wouldn't know what to do with. Louis had always rolled his eyes every time the kid had made the local gossip rags with the usual bullshit: Harry Styles spotted walk-of-shaming from Caroline Flack's house, Harry Styles wear his beanie every morning after getting laid, Harry Styles takes home two guys in one night... the list goes on, but Louis hadn't ever really paid much attention. He never really understood why anyone cared who Harry Styles, or any celebrity for that matter, was sleeping with.

He'd started to care, however, when Styles had started writing album reviews for _Psycho_. He'd told a local radio station that while he loved writing features, music was what he was really passionate about. Louis could tell that it was the truth a few weeks later, reading Styles' review of The Jackbone's latest album, and yelling “yes!” out loud at every second line. Because Harry Styles had _got_ it, this album was smoke and mirrors, Louis had disliked it from first listen, but they had legions of fans, and a record deal, and Louis hadn't ever met anyone else who hadn't liked it. But Harry had taken the album and stripped it's glamour off, looked underneath and heard the gaping, boring _nothing_ that Louis had heard, and Louis had loved him a little for it. He'd ripped the review out and stuck it to their fridge, ignoring Niall's “why do I care?”, and grinning at it every time walked into the kitchen.

Harry had written more and more reviews, until he had eventually carved out a reputation as more than just a pretty face, and a good review from Harry Styles basically meant that you were going places. And if you hadn't been before Styles got to you, you certainly were afterwards, because people took notice.

So yeah, Zayn makes fun of him for putting _Psycho_ reviews on a pedestal, but there are a lot of things Louis could take the piss out of Zayn for. For example, he's far too nice to bring up the fact that Zayn had taped a picture of Beyonce up on the wall of their old practice space and left it there for two years.

Except that he's not, so Louis brings it up on a weekly basis. It's always funny.

***

Zayn doesn't end up actually killing him. He's in a strangely good mood, possibly because when Louis arrives, the club is packed, and a few people have already bought copies of _Celebration Rock_. Ed's selling them at the bar, which Louis knows is a good strategy. If the owner of the club you frequent tells you to buy something, you buy it, especially if that owner is Ed. Nobody would dare question Ed on matters concerning what is cool and what isn't. There's nobody cooler than Ed.

“Ed checked your gear,” is the only thing Zayn says about how late he is, “he did an amazing impression of you. I'm thinking about replacing you.”

“I hope you play the cajon, then, mate.” Louis grins, “A full kit usually drowns out an acoustic guitar, especially one as tiny as Ed's.”

“I have nothing to compensate for!” Ed shouts from over the bar, pouring a shot for a customer, and then one for himself. “When's Niall arriving? I've decided that I'm going to talk him into working for me tonight. He can have free draught.”

Zayn lifts an eyebrow. “Are you trying to move in on my boyfriend, Ed?”

“I'll leave him to you, I don't think I could keep up with him.” Ed laughs, pushing two bottles of beer over the bar towards Zayn and Louis. “I'm interested only in his knowledge of liquor and his talent for talking people out of their money.”

Zayn grabs his beer and pulls his phone out to send Niall a text, while Louis leans back against the bar to survey the crowd. They're young tonight, which isn't necessarily a bad thing. Kids are easier to win over, usually. Musical cynicism hasn't found them yet and they're less aware of their alcohol limits, which will make them dance, and crowd up front like Louis loves. There's nothing he likes more than leaning out over a crowd, shouting the words and leaning forward with his mic so far that he almost falls into the reaching hands. Maybe tonight he'll crowd surf, that's always fun.

Louis is considering whether or not Ed could be convinced to throw Louis his guitar from offstage before the first song, when Louis sees him.

Harry Styles is leaning casually against the wall by the loo, casting his eyes out over the crowd like Louis has been doing. Louis blinks quickly, to make sure it really is him, before spinning around and facing the bar again.

He's not sure why he's effectively trying to hide, because Harry Styles obviously has no idea who he is, but he can feel nerves creeping up his body, starting in his toes and settling somewhere low in his stomach. Louis does _not_ get nervous. This is not a thing that's happening. Definitely not.

He means to forget about it, to shrug it off, like Harry Styles is any other kid in the bar, waiting to hear them play. He's several years younger than Louis is, anyway, so Louis should have the upper hand in this situation. Except for a split second, the question crosses his mind, _what if he's there to review them?,_ and all hope of shrugging it off goes out the door.

“Louis, you've gone green, why have you gone green?” Zayn asks him, having finally looked up from his phone. Louis makes a little noise, and nods his head in Harry's general direction. Zayn looks over, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. Louis sees the exact moment that Zayn spots him, he makes a soft noise of surprise in deep in his throat.

Zayn seems to take it better than Louis does, but he can still detect a hint of panic around the edges of Zayn's calm. He spins his bar stool around, and shoves his empty bottle of beer onto the bar.

“Shots, I think, Ed,” Zayn says quietly, and then, to Louis, “he's probably not here to write a review.”

“But what if he is?” Louis says, petulant, like a five year old.

“He's not,” Zayn insists, dragging the shots Ed slams onto the bar toward him, drinking one and pressing the other towards Louis.

“But what if _he is_?”

“Ed!” Zayn calls, beckoning him over with a wave of his hand that makes Ed roll his eyes, but he comes anyway. “Do not sell that guy our album.” He waves a hand at Harry, and Louis takes another peek. Harry's talking to a girl now, eyes glinting as she throws her head back and laughs at a joke Louis can't hear.

“What, Harry Styles?” Ed laughs, picking up empties as he snorts dismissively. “You're right, I won't. If that guy wants a copy, I'm giving him one for free!”

Louis chooses that moment to take his shot, and it's not at all sweet or sour. It's bitter, and burns a bit going down. He likes the way it momentarily distracts him from the dilemma he's built up in his head.

“Okay, you know what? It's fine. This is fine,” Louis says. He takes a deep breathe, stands up, claps Zayn on the back. 

“This is nothing to panic over. We're good. We fucking _killed it_ with this album, you know that, so even if Ed decides to be a dirty little traitor,” Louis pauses in his diatribe to glare in Ed's vicinity, even though Ed's busy getting drinks, and doesn't even look up, “Harry Styles will love it, and we'll be reviewed in _Psycho_ , just like we always wanted, and it will be fabulous. Smashing. _Fuck_.”

Zayn's staring at him now, eyes wide like he's in awe or something, and Louis grabs his arm and yanks him up from the stool. “Let's go. Now, before I lose my nerve or whatever.”

Louis runs for the stage, shoving bodies out of his way as he goes, determined to turn the unfamiliar nerves he's feeling into some kind of stage presence. He's manic as he pulls his guitar over his head and stomps on the stage a few times, testing whether his feet are still on solid ground. Zayn slides behind his drum set.

Louis glances out over the audience. A few of them have noticed that they're up there, turning their heads, but until Ed notices and cuts the bar music, until the sound tech flips the set up on, nobody will really care. He spots Niall behind the bar, throwing his jacket at the counter top behind him, reaching around Ed to grab a rag and start to help. Not before he glances up at the stage, though, seeking out Zayn, and winking.

Zayn breaks out into a grin.

“For fuck's sake, let's go before you faint or something,” Louis grins, because making fun of Zayn feel familiar. He's about to play, and he always feels good right now, a little unsure about how the show will go, but absolutely dying to find out, to scream out his frustration.

He loves it, loves knowing Zayn is behind him with the back beat, knows their songs are fucking _solid_ , and suddenly he's laughing, because who the _fuck_ is Harry Styles?

He catches Ed's eye and nods, and Ed nods back, flips the switch, jumps the bar and makes his way to the soundboard, where he gives the thumbs up to the guy waiting there, and that's it. They're live.

Louis takes a deep breath, steps to the mic, and yells, “we're Jimmy Protested, and this is celebration rock, and it's a fucking party!”, barely letting the words slip out of his mouth before he's slamming his right boot down on his pedal and letting the first chords of _Adrenaline Nightshift_ ring out through the small space. Zayn picks up where he should, and Louis is just gone, lost in the music, and the whole world is theirs. _There's no high like this adrenaline nightshift._

The first song melts into the second, and the crowd starts trailing their way up to the front of the stage so that by the time they get to _The House That Heaven Built_ , there is absolutely no bare floor left and everyone is pushing, and sweating, and Louis loves it. He even spots a few kids yelling along to the “whoa-oh-oh”s, which makes the pride bubble out of his chest in a laugh, and he spins around to face Zayn and play at him for a few moments, until he can get his game face back on.

By the time they get to _Younger Us_ , Niall comes out from behind the bar to stand in front of it, and Louis looks back to make sure Zayn's seen him, which is pretty hilarious in retrospect, because sometimes Louis swears that Niall is all Zayn ever bloody sees.

He stomps on his board, adds the necessary fuzz, and starts slamming out the chords. He's excited, because they've never played this live before, but even though Louis sings most of the lead vocals, this is Zayn's song, not his, like _Fire's Highway_ or _Adrenaline Nightshift_ are.

Zayn had brought it to Louis, awkward and embarrassed, because he'd knnown Louis would _know_ it was for Niall, and it had been early in their relationship, maybe even too early for Zayn to be writing songs for him. But Louis hadn't cared, hadn't spoke a word to Niall about it, because the song had been _fucking amazing_. Months later, when Zayn had begun to spend most nights over at theirs, he'd confessed and let Niall listen to the song on a rough cut of the album. Niall had listened to it once through, watching Zayn with dark eyes, and when it was through, he'd dragged Zayn by the collar into his room and slammed the door behind them. Louis had slept with his earphones on that night.

Louis tries to concentrate on the riff, but his fingers are dancing a muscle memory pattern now, so he feels like it's okay when he searches out Niall in the crowd so that he can be watching when his lyrics drop out, and Zayn's part comes in.

Louis loves watching Niall's face light up at this part, the way Niall's eyes practically glow every time Louis catches him listening to this song at home.

Zayn leans into the mic set up at the drumset and sings his part right at Niall. _Remember saying things like 'we'll sleep when we're dead', and thinking this feeling was never gonna end. Remember that night you were already in bed, said 'fuck it', got up to drink with me instead._

Niall's always got a smile ready, gives them away easily, but Louis never sees him use the one that splits his face in half when Zayn sings that bit at him. Louis can't wait to give him shit about it later. He shakes out of his thoughts in time for him to lean back into his mic and sing the next line, _give me that naked new skin rush_ , with renewed vigor, tilting his head to the side to smirk at Zayn as they both finish up, _give me younger us._

“We are Jimmy Protested, if you want to buy our new album, _Celebration Rock_ , it's at the back, if you don't, fuck yourself.” Louis yells into the mic, running a hand through his hair, adrenaline pulsing in his veins as he hears Zayn counting in their last tune.

They finish up loud and dirty, Louis letting his fingers hit the strings hard enough so that it might draw blood, but he can't be arsed to care when it's their last song and they don't have another show for a few days. He's disgusting and sweating when the stage goes dark, and he shoves his guitar at Zayn when he comes out from behind his set, and heads straight for the bar.

Niall's there, pressing a bottle into his hand and mussing his hair a bit, leaning over to whisper, “fucking _smashed_ it tonight, Lou”, before he's gone to find Zayn. Lou takes a long pull. He's still breathing hard, and he smiles at the people who come up to shake his hand, saying thank-yous, and soaking up praise. He chats with them for a while, the high of being up on stage showing no signs of wearing off any time soon, and Ed keeps shoving drinks at him while he's talking. He loses track of time that way, listening to people tell him how great they were, selling copies of the album. He's in a great mood, because he'll be able to buy groceries this week for sure, probably even a new record or two.

“Can I buy you a drink?” Louis turns his head, grin freezing on his face and his heart leaping into his chest as he sees who it is.

Harry Styles is standing beside him, and if Louis didn't know any better, he'd say that his smile was bordering on hopeful. Louis isn't sure why he looks like that, when by all accounts, Harry Styles has stepped down from on-high to grace Louis with his presence. And also, apparently, a drink.

“Uh, no, that's okay. I've had enough, I think.” Louis hears himself saying the words, and wants to kick himself when Harry's face falls, but it's true. He has had enough, and kind of wishes he was a bit more sober for this conversation, so that he could figure out which way he wanted to play it.

He doesn't have time to think about it, because Harry's offering his hand. “I'm Harry.”

Louis takes it without thinking, but shakes it as firmly as he can manage, and can't help the laugh that falls from his lips. “Yeah, I know.”

Harry pulls his hand back and sighs, and Louis thinks for a fleeting moment that Harry had been hoping he wouldn't have known the name, but that was ridiculous, wasn't it?

“I figured you might.” Harry says, letting his arm drop to his side. He turns to the bar to signal to Ed that he'd like a drink, but Ed's busy serving a group of girls in low-cut tops.

Louis reaches over the bar and grabs a pint glass. He fills it from the closest beer tap, and presses it at Harry. “It'll be a while, probably. Might as well not wait. Ed's a sucker for cleavage.” He stops, considers, tilts his head for a second. “I hope you don't mind. If you wanted a cosmo or something like that, you'll have to wait him out, or pull Niall off of my drummer.”

Harry is clutching his glass with a bewildered frown as he follows Louis' gaze to the stage, where Zayn and Niall are tucked into a dark corner. Louis spares a little despair when he notices that Zayn has set his guitar leaning up against a stack, and he thinks fleetingly that he should go move it.

Harry looks back at Louis, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Well, I had been hoping that my introduction would have pulled a name from you, but since it doesn't seem to have worked, I'll just ask. What's your name, then?”

Louis really isn't sure what is happening here. Because, the thing is, while Louis' brain is aware that this kid is Harry Styles: Infamous London Rock Critic And Playboy, Louis' eyes are telling him that Harry is just as nervous as he is in this conversation right now. Louis doesn't know what to _do with that_. He wants to shrug Harry off, to offer him an apathetic 'thanks for coming out', and to turn around and ignore him for the rest of the night. But he also wants to ask Harry what he thought; to just pull off the band-aid, press a copy of the album into Harry's hands and get it over with.

And then, there's the part of him who wants to crowd Harry back against the bar and find out what kind of noises he makes when Louis bites his bottom lip. Because, Harry's fingers are long and firm, where they're gripping the glass that Louis handed to him, and he's taller than Louis is. His hair, which the gossip rags sing legends about on a daily basis, is perfectly mussed, curls falling every-which-way, like Harry can't be arsed to care. Even though Harry Styles has played it so far like Louis is the one with all the power, his easy body language, confidence rolling off him in waves, suggest that Harry knows exactly who has the upper hand. And that both pisses Louis off, and turns him on.

Louis has been with men before, he'd never really seen any reason to limit himself, but Harry Styles is in an entirely different league.

And since, like Yoda says, confusion leads to anger, anger leads to hate, and hate leads to the dark side, Louis finds himself shrugging. “It's Louis.”

“Louis,” Harry repeats, as if he's testing it out. More likely, trying to come up with appropriate rhyming words for when he annihilated them in print.

It's Harry Styles saying his name that does it for him. He's already on this train, Harry knows who he is, so there's no stopping it, so he feels all the air leave his body in a whoosh of defeat. He reaches behind the bar to grab a copy of _Celebration Rock_ and tries not to look at it too much, with it's cardboard slip case and shit cover design. When he shoves it at Harry, he tries not to faint, because everything is out of his control now.

Harry looks surprised, but he turns the album over in his hand a few times, before looking back up at Louis.

“Just,” Louis starts, stops again. Takes a breath, and opens his mouth once more. “I want to say be gentle, but bugger it. Just tell the truth, alright?”

With that, he turns and heads towards the stage, pressing through bodies on his way, dodging congratulatory pats on the back and the concerned gazes of Niall and Zayn. He grabs his guitar, decides that he trusts Ed with the rest of his gear until tomorrow, and heads home.

***

Niall will not let it drop when Louis stops buying _Psycho_ magazine. After the first week, Niall buys it himself, reading the reviews and torturing Louis by describing what he's missing. Danny Jacobs Killed A Guy, 2/5 stars. The new Feist album, 4/5 stars. Drake, Leap Bikini, Billy Ray Cyborg. Things that Niall wouldn't have cared about in a million years.

“Oh, the Libertine's new album, 32 out of five stars,” Niall declares one night, and Louis knows he's just making things up now, but it doesn't make it any less annoying.

But the thing is, he _can't_ read it anymore. He can't even think of the magazine without his stomach heaving. He doesn't want to turn the page one day and see his name in print, Harry Styles' byline and rating sloshed across the page like the two have anything to do with each other. He thinks that turning the pages and not seeing it might be even worse.

The absolute worst thing, though, is the way Louis feels like he's second guessing his music. He's never done it, before, hasn't gotten to the point where he's sick of the songs, like he's moved past them, musically. He and Zayn had made an album that they'd both been in love with, and Louis' angry that he's questioning it, angry at Harry Styles' hypothetical judgement of something he loves so much, and most of all, angry that he cares.

He lets it out each time they play _The House That Heaven Built_ , feeling Zayn's kickdrum like it's guiding his heartbeat. He screams the lyrics, _when they love you, and they will, tell them all they'll love in my shadow,_ and works himself up into a frenzy. The crowd seems to be there with him each night, though, so he doesn't worry about it too much.

Zayn comes up behind him afterwards, though, pulls him into a half-hug, presses his mouth to Louis' ear, “you're alright, yeah?” Louis always nods, shakes him off. There's something he can't shake, though, and Zayn's not dumb enough to believe him for long.

He seeks Niall out after each show, drinking until he can crawl into bed later and not feel the nerves he knows are still in there somewhere.

***

They're playing a show in North Arynton, a neighbourhood Louis wouldn't have dreamed of stepping in a year ago. The pub they're playing is just a little too clean, the bloke who booked them smiles just a little too much and is wearing a shirt that's buttoned up to it's top button. Louis and Zayn exchange looks; it really isn't their crowd.

Their worries fade away, though, when people start to trickle in, and things turn into more their speed. He sees familiar faces, and relaxes. Niall comes along about a half an hour from the show, bringing with him a dozen people from god knows where.

There's about ten minutes to go when Louis sees a familiar face he wishes hadn't bothered to show up. Harry Styles saunters in with a girl on his arm and a trail of friends behind them. He watches the way Harry is greeted by person after person, the way the manager of the bar greets him with a handshake. Harry's got a red flush that Louis absolutely does not think is in any way adorable. Not at all.

Louis wants to march up to him and demand to know why he's there. Why did he bother coming, if he'd hated the album so much? What was he playing at? It was quite a train ride out to High Street, and he wouldn't have been in the neighbourhood. There are a thousand questions Louis wants to ask him, which interfere somewhat with his plan of never speaking to Harry Styles ever again.

“Let's go, Lou.” Zayn startles him out of his reverie, and shoves his guitar at him.

They fuck up on _Younger Us_ this time, but it doesn't matter, not with Niall in the crowd up front, not with the way people have pushed the tables to the side to give them more room for dancing. By the time they get to _Evil's Sway_ , Louis screams the words and vows to himself that he's not going to acknowledge Harry at all, if he can help it.

When they finish up, he doesn't break tradition, heading straight to the bar, slinging his arm around a pretty blonde girl who offers him a drink. She doesn't care that Louis is all sweat and a racing heart, and Louis doesn't particularly care that her boyfriend is standing nearby shooting him a death glare. He moves on down the line towards where Zayn has joined Niall. He thinks that maybe if he stays by the bar, right in the thick of it, he'll have a better chance of making it through this night unscathed.

Harry finds him, later, of course he fucking does, when he's halfway to the numb he normally gets to before Niall steers him home.

“Hello, Louis Tomlinson,” Harry says as he pushes up, shouldering several people out of the way and stepping up beside him, dropping a hand onto Louis' shoulder, like he has the right to. Like they've exchanged more than seven awkward sentences.

“Well, if it isn't our very own William Miller,” Louis says, because there's no getting out of it now, and Louis wonders distressingly if Harry's eyelashes were this thick the last time they met. Louis squints and leans in closer, which causes him to stumble slightly, but he catches himself with a hand on Harry's shoulder. “Whoa, sorry.”

“You're absolutely smashed,” Harry declares, almost gleefully.

“I am indeed, Harry Styles.” Louis tells him, reaching to grab another shot from Niall's hands. He downs it and tries not to notice how nice Harry's smile is, or how Zayn's eyes are narrowed in worry, looking from Harry to Louis and back again.

When Zayn offers Harry his hand and introduces himself, Harry leans in to talk into Zayn's ear. It's loud in the bar and hard to hear, but Louis still can't help the way his fist clenches slightly at the sight of Harry all up in Zayn's space. Harry's shaking hands with Niall soon enough, though, and the two of them are laughing at something. Louis tells himself he can't be arsed to care. He takes a few more shots with strangers by the bar, clicking his glass with theirs before sucking the burning liquid down.

When he shakes the fogginess out of his head and looks back up, Harry is watching him. He's got his bottom lip pulled between his teeth, but he's staring at Louis with bright eyes. The honesty Louis sees there surprises him, and it's the combination of the low burn of alcohol and _something else_ that keeps Louis looking just a bit too long.

And then Harry's leaning in, asking “can we talk?”, and it's not like Louis would be able to say no. He nods, reaching down to grab Harry and yank him forward, away from the bar and into the crowd.

Louis isn't sure where his feet are taking him. He's actually kind of surprised that he can walk as well as he's managing to. Harry doesn't seem to mind, though, just comes easily where Louis leads him, and soon there are less bodies to push through, gaps between people becoming wider, until there's room to breathe and the music is quieter.

“Why am I the nervous one,” Louis' asking, to nobody in particular, or maybe to Niall and Zayn, even though they've left them back at the bar. Maybe to everybody, who the hell knows?

Harry's features scrunch up like he's a bit confused, but he laughs loosely, like it doesn't bother him that he doesn't know what's going on, and you know what? No. No, that's just not fair.

Louis realizes they're in a corner of the bar, a small hallway that Louis thinks must lead to the washrooms, and he's not really sure how they got there. He must be more pissed than he realized if he's let himself pull Harry somewhere relatively deserted without even realizing what he was doing. Desperate, that's what it was, Louis thinks, pathetically.

“I'm the musician here,” Louis says, and it comes out meaner than he wants it to sound. “You should be begging me for it, not the other way around.”

Harry's eyes go dark, suddenly, the smile vanishes from his face. He crowds into Louis' space. Louis wants to stand his ground, but he lets himself be pressed back into the wall behind him. He feels Harry's mouth on the shell of his ear, breathing ragged.

“Maybe I am,” Harry says, the words tickling Louis' ear. He can feel Harry's nose pressing into his neck, before Harry's dropping tiny kisses down his collarbone, his broad hands coming up to rest on Louis' hips.

What he thinks he knows about Harry Styles hasn't so far matched up with the Harry that he sees in front of him. He's drunk and _he can't think_ when Harry's fingers dig into his skin like that. He tries to match stories of this kid and legions of girls, a bedroom with a revolving door installed, with the earnest glance that Harry had given him the first time he'd introduced himself. Louis can't do it, though, can't seem to reconcile the sure way Harry's hands roam over his body with his self-deprecating laugh that comes too freely.

When he decides to stop thinking and just hold on, things get better in spades. Even though it's probably too early in... whatever this is, for the kind of force he wishes he could use, Louis pushes his fingers into Harry's curls, yanks lightly enough to bring Harry's mouth up to his own. He let's his lips slide slick over Harry's for a moment, lazily feeling the warm press and drag, before Harry opens up and let's Louis lick in. 

He chases down the taste of whiskey until he feels Harry's hips press flush against his, and then he has to break off to pant into the skin of Harry's neck.

“I need to know,” Louis doesn't mean to say it, but he feels like his walls have cracks in them. His carefully constructed filters have been demolished by alcohol and a tall, lean kid with legs for days and a lopsided grin. “Did you listen to it?”

He's glad his face is hidden, that he had muttered the words into the skin of Harry's neck, because he feels his cheeks flush. He has to know, though, he can't fucking stand the anticipation any longer.

There's silence for a moment, and Harry's blinking at him. “What?”

“The album, our album. Did you listen to it? Did you like it,” Louis slurs, trying to grab for Harry's neck to drag him back in. 

Harry keeps his distance, hands catching Louis’ and pulling them away from where they’re trying to cling. Looking up, Louis sees Harry’s brows furrowed like he's angry, and oh.

Louis' not sure what's happening here, but he wants more of Harry's hands, more of his mouth. He doesn't know what the fuck he did or said to make Harry get that look on his face. If anyone should be angry, it's Louis, and that's how this whole thing started, isn't it?

Harry laughs once, it's short and bitter, not cute like the last time, and no, no that's not right. He looks sad, like Louis made him sad, and Louis’ too drunk to put together why, still lost in the sensation of Harry’s mouth on his own and anxiety about what Harry thought about the...

“Yeah, I liked it,” is the last thing Harry says, before he steps back and let's go, leaving Louis grabbing for open air. He disappears into the crowd of bodies, and doesn't look back.

***

He doesn't wake up until the next afternoon, his head pounding. He fumbles in his nightstand drawer, but only comes up with an empty ibuprofen bottle. He considers getting up, since he's really gotta piss and he can see his phone's red light blinking at him from across the room. He pulls a pillow over his head instead, letting himself fall back into a fitful sleep.

He wakes up later to Niall climbing into bed with him, nudging him over gently. He throws an arm over Louis' torso and presses his nose into Louis' shoulder. Louis closes his eyes and fades out again.

It's Zayn's voice that wakes him for the third time that day, “Oh, this is just lovely.” Louis cracks an eye open to see him standing at the door, arms folded across his chest. He's got the hint of a smile, though, so Louis isn't too worried.

Lifting his arms experimentally, he finds that he can't get far, the weight of Niall pressing him down. He half shrugs, as Niall huffs out a muffled, “jus' jealous you're not in on this, Malik.”

“I'm good actually. The two of you smell like a brewery, even from here,” Zayn snorts, leaning against the frame of the door, “you might want to pull yourselves out of bed, though. It's almost tea, and I've got something that you're gonna want to read.”

It's then that Louis notices the rolled up magazine in Zayn's fist. He can't quite make out the name on the front, but he knows what the title is anyway. He sits up abruptly.

“Is that...”

“Up, first.” Zayn insists, backing out the door.

When Louis staggers out into the den, Niall following, rubbing sleep out of his eyes, Zayn's sitting on the couch with a beer. He doesn't say anything, just motions to the magazine on the table in front of him, open to a specific page.

Louis glances down, almost turns and runs back into his room when he sees “Celebration Rock” at the top of the page.

“I can't.” Louis insists, taking an actual step backwards, into Niall, who grabs him by the shoulders to hold him steady.

“Lou,” Zayn says, leaning forward in his seat, “sit down. Read it.”

There's no avoiding it anymore, Louis thinks, rubbing his eyes tiredly. He thinks back to the night before, to Harry's hands on his hips, to further back, to the show, to all the shows in the past months, and he knows he wants to hear what the article has to say. He falls back into the couch beside Zayn, picks the magazine up, and reads.

“If you're looking for something brand new, life-changing, or game altering, don't look for Jimmy Protested to be your saviour,” the article starts, and Louis feels his mouth go dry, as he glances up at Zayn.

“Keep reading,” Zayn insists, taking a pull from his bottle of beer. Louis looks back to the page.

“However, where most bands try to reinvent the wheel, the guys from Jimmy Protested, who've been paying their dues in and around the London scene for a few years now, know what rock and roll fans want, and give it to them in spades. No record this year kicked as much ass or showed as much heart as Celebration Rock. It rocked. It rolled. It swung the hammer of the gods.”

"Singer-guitarist Louis Tomlinson screams and strums through a patchwork quilt of flange, echo, reverb and feedback. Some would put that down to a studio trick employed in hopes of concealing the duo’s limited musical range, if not their complete lack of original thought. I say Jimmy Protested know their limits and stay within them, using to the fullest the musical gifts (verse-chorus-verse mastery, fifth-gear riffage) already in their possession."

“Tomlinson and drummer Zayn Malik have managed to capture the romanticism of youth on _Celebration Rock._ Every time it spins, time stops; it’s like Jimmy Protested channeled the spirit of classic rock and ran it through an indie rock flux capacitor, arriving in 2015 with a throwback that will still be paying dividends in 2025.”

Underneath the words, sitting there like a lifeline, are five tiny gold stars.

“Holy shit,” Louis says, reading the last line of Harry's review over again before sweeping his eyes up to Zayn, who's signature scowl is nowhere to be found. In it's place is a wild grin, and Zayn lifts his beer in Louis' direction.

“Cheers, mate.” Zayn laughs, and Louis starts laughing, too, because for god's sakes, they've fucking _done it_.

***

**Author's Note:**

> Harry’s review of Celebration Rock is [actually this review of the actual album.](http://music.cbc.ca/#!/blogs/2012/7/Polaris-juror-Mike-Devlin-on-why-Japandroids-should-take-the-prize)
> 
> Since I wrote this in 2012, I called their band Jimmy Protested. I should have called it Bus 1. It's called Bus 1 In my heart.


End file.
